Chapter 3
I found Charles Vaughn in the cigar room.
He was laughing when I entered.
That stopped quickly.
“Matteo.”
I closed the door.
“Daniel Walsh.”
His expression changed for half a second.
Enough.
“What about him?”
“His daughters received nothing.”
Charles leaned back.
“That was years ago.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
I stared at him.
Men reveal themselves when they think time makes cruelty smaller.
“Why was he removed from the protected-family list?”
Charles frowned.
“Accounting issue.”
“No.”
I sat across from him.
“Try again.”
He exhaled.
“Daniel had debts.”
“To who?”
“The organization.”
“How much?”
“I don’t remember.”
Convenient.
“Then why does Erin remember the consequence eight years later?”
His jaw tightened.
I continued.
“My father promised those girls support.”
“Your father made emotional promises constantly.”
There it was.
Contempt hiding beneath administration.
“Did you override him?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Silence.
I leaned forward.
“Charles.”
He looked toward the door.
Wrong instinct.
“My father trusted you.”
“He trusted too many people.”
Interesting answer.
Not grief.
Resentment.
“What happened to Daniel’s money?”
Charles laughed softly.
“You think I stole from two children?”
“I think your daughter knew Erin’s application.”
His face hardened.
“Celeste has nothing to do with this.”
“She told Erin she still wouldn’t get approved.”
Silence.
There.
Not surprise.
He knew Celeste had seen the file.
I continued.
“She offered Daniel Walsh’s daughter ten thousand dollars to kiss me.”
Charles closed his eyes.
For the first time, genuine anger.
Not at cruelty.
At recklessness.
“What was she trying to do?”
“Nothing.”
I almost smiled.
“Your daughter humiliates a waitress tied to an old Rinaldi debt in front of two hundred guests, then warns her she still won’t get support.”
His face tightened.
“That isn’t nothing.”
He said nothing.
I stood.
“Where is the Walsh file?”
Charles looked at me.
“Destroyed.”
Too fast.
I smiled faintly.
“No.”
His face changed.
“Where?”
He stared.
I lowered my voice.
“If Daniel Walsh died owing my family money, I want to see why.”
Charles swallowed.
Then:
May you like
“My private office.”
That was when I knew he had never expected me to ask.
